


Katabasis

by stardustshines



Category: IT - Stephen King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 06:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustshines/pseuds/stardustshines
Summary: Katabasis: A descent to the underworld, Going down.What if Pennywise wasn’t always a demon? What if he was a person, once, before It consumed him?What would he have thought, during the slow, inevitable corruption of his mind and soul?





	Katabasis

So for context: my friend and I were discussing IT theories and I was inspired to write this. I have never read the book and only saw the first movie. It may be inaccurate to either the films or the books because of this. Sorry! I hope you enjoy it anyway.

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Whistling a tune, he placed his washbag on the basin. Carefully balancing the shaving mirror on the rim, Arnold frowned at his reflection. His normally brown hair was growing in rusty at the roots. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping his stage makeup had simply spread upwards. It remained stubbornly red. He sighed, annoyed. It was probably a side effect of washing his hair in the water from the same muddy well that the camp used for everything from washing clothes to its lemonade. Hopefully, once they moved on to a proper city rather than this ramshackle town in the armpits of Maine, the color would go away.  
“Arnie!” The tent walls shook as they were hammered on by an militant chorus girl. The mirror, already tilting precariously, fell off the washbasin. Arnold fumbled for it, cursing. The hammering continued, giving every impression that a full percussion orchestra was in full swing.  
“Are you coming or not??” Stella poked her head through the flap. Her stage makeup was still smeared at the corner of her eyes, black hair cut short in a flapper’s bob.  
“I’ll be there, Stella! Hold up a minute!”  
Gathering his things and grumbling, Arnold gave one last futile tug at his scalp before following her outside.  
“What’s with the red? You going for a carrot-top?” Stella asked, blunt as always.  
“Something in the wash water, I think.” He replies, shoving his mirror in the bag. “How long are we in this dump, anyway?”  
“Another month. Manager wants to rest the animals, so we’re staying in one place for a while.” She winked. “You’ll be full ginge by the time we leave. C’mon, cookhouse is open.”

————————————————————————-  
Trading weary high fives with the other clowns and animal handlers, Arnold exited the tent. His new act, dancing on top of a unicycle, had been a hit. He should have been over the moon. But somehow, all he felt was tired. The magic seemed to have been stripped away from performing, from everything. It wasn’t good for a clown to feel dull. Distracts from the act. The only thing that seemed to make him perk up recently was the children. Their smiling faces, cheeks stuffed with popcorn and lollipops, were the only thing that held allure for him. Not even happiness at their amusement but something else, something stranger. “Hey Red, why the long face?” Stella, ever energetic, jogged beside him. “You did great tonight!”  
“Thanks, Stel. I’m gonna turn in early.” He hurried to his tent, ignoring the worried look on her face. Propping up his mirror, he began the long process of removing his stage makeup. As he wiped at his forehead, a tuft of red fell. Horrified, he reached upwards and tentatively patted his hair. More hair fell. “Am I going bald?” Arnold whispered aloud. He was only in his twenties, too young for baldness, and he’d never heard of hair that fell out in clumps. He examined his reflection in the mirror. His now entirely red hair was receding from a startling pale face. “Great.” He growled. “Just great.”  
———————————————————————-—  
“Hey, mister! You want a paper, mister? Only cost you a nickel! Hey!” The scruffy boy snatched him by the elbow. “There’s war in Europe-“  
Arnold shot him a glare as he shook the child off. The boy scrambled back, fear in his eyes.  
This was a new reaction. For most of his life, Arnold wouldn’t have described his face as sinister. But the high forehead and gaunt cheeks brought a hint of the unwholesome to his appearance. Once, he would have minded. Now, he felt a slightly unwelcome feeling of satisfaction at the boy’s nerves. He continued on, eager to be clean and go to bed. After two weeks washing in buckets of well water, the managers had given in to the complaints and erected a camp shower. Still by the well which provided water, the ramshackle building offered some semblance of privacy. It was empty when Arnold entered. It also had the luxury of real sinks and a wall-length mirror. He wet his toothbrush, repulsed as always by the muddy, foul tasting water. Tonight dinner had been a thoroughly unsatisfying spinach stew, not that any food held savor nowadays. He felt himself craving something, but had no idea as to what. The problem with spinach, he mused to himself, was that it always got stuck in the back of your teeth.   
Tommorow, the shower would be disassembled, along with the whole camp, as the circus moved on elsewhere. Derry had been milked dry of any money to be spent on circuses, and the Ponticellu Family Circus would travel on to greener pastures. “And good riddance,” Arnold muttered, opening his mouth wider to tackle a stubborn bit of spinach at the back of his gum. Now we can perform in a proper city, with proper water, and halfway decent pay-  
He stopped midthought. There was something shining in his teeth. No, not his teeth, the back of his mouth. 3 yellow-orange lights, arranged in a triangle. He stumbled back, dropping his toothbrush in his shock. What on earth is happening to me? The sole lightbulb flickered and went out. Arnold heaved a sigh of relief as it came back to life. He was just imagining things, that’s all. He’d look in the mirror and- he glanced up at his reflection. But it wasn’t him standing in the mirror, not the washed-out, tired person. This Arnold was taller, with pale white makeup and red lines tracing from his eyes to his lips. His eyes were yellow, and his forehead was impossibly tall. He wore a clown suit just like Arnold’s own, but instead of being clean and white, it was tattered and gone gray.  
Arnold tried to scramble back, but fell to the floor as the strange clown looked on.  
The light went out.

No one ever found out was exactly happened to Arnold Kowalski. His belongings were still in his tent when searchers began to look for him, all except for his washbag. That was found in the wreckage of the showers, scattered near a large hole in the tiles that looked like some crazed animal had tried to burrow there. The Ponticellu Family Circus left Derry the following week, and people changed. They forgot the mysterious disappearing clown. Only a washed up chorus girl ever spoke of the incident, nursing a whiskey as she tells the sympathetic bartender about her friend Arnold Kowalski, known to the public as Pennywise the dancing clown.


End file.
